


Mob City

by chardougla



Category: Arrow - Fandom, DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), Prison Break
Genre: Fluff but with plot, Just making that clear, Mob AU, More like plot with some fluff, Not CaptainCanary, Not Olicity, Some crossover with Prison Break
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-01
Updated: 2016-06-06
Packaged: 2018-07-11 13:34:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7053916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chardougla/pseuds/chardougla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Starling City is a Mob City</p><p>Ever since the Takeover, Starling City has been governed by the three most powerful Mafias ever known. The Tancredis control the ports, The Lance's control downtown, and the Solntsevskaya Bratva control the Glades. Standard of living under these crime families during peace is good, minus the monthly protection money. But in times of mob war, no one is safe, and someone or something desperately seems to want a mob war...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. "What is a Mob City?"

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, so this is my first ever fic so please leave any thoughts or suggestions in the comment section below. Hope you like it.

Central City 

“What is a Mob City anyway?” Ray queried as he rearranged Felicity’s hastily thrown about piles into neat ones.  
“A Mob City is one where the US government has completely abandoned it due to the organized crime prevalence. It could send in the army to clean up the mess, but it simply doesn’t feel it is necessary, due to the competence of the mob, or mobs, in charge,” Felicity replied sedately, as she packed her notepad and tape recorder. “Essentially, the mob is the law.”  
“And that is where we’re going, to a lawless, crime-run city where we could get our throats cut any minute,” Ray muttered. “Wonderful”  
“Oh, don’t be so down, sweetheart, think of it as the opportunity it is,” Felicity protested, “No one’s been in Starling City since the Takeover, and we’re going in! It’ll be story of the year,” she added, her mind already racing with the image of her article being front and center on the Central Weekly.  
“What is it that we’ll be doing there exactly anyway?” Ray asked, bothered by the fact that he suddenly realized that he had no idea what his fiance’s trip involved them doing.  
“We’re taking a tour of the each of the city’s three districts. During each, we’ll be the guest of the family that rules that district. We’ll be wined and dined, and find out all the info we need from drunken mob bosses,” Felicity gushed, thrilled at the thought of champagne and caviar and the inside scoop.  
“You mean we won’t talk to any normal everyday people?” Ray asked, “Then how will everyone outside know about life in the Mob City?”  
“I love you darling, but sometimes you lose sight of the big picture,” Felicity countered, “You forget that I’m writing a news article, not a CIA dissertation. People who read this aren’t going to care about your average Joe Shmoe. They’re going to want to know how the big guns live their lives. The Evgeny Knyazevs, the Sara Lances, those are the people they want to hear about.”  
“If you say so...” Ray said, clearly still bothered by her cynicism.  
“I do, and I’m always right as you know. Now hurry up, we don’t want to miss the train.”

Queen Mansion, The Glades

Oliver Queen strode through the headquarters of the Solntsevskaya Bratva in a fury, taking the steps two at a time until he reached the office of his adopted father, Anatoly Knyazev.  
“Why is Alexei taking over my clients?” he demanded hotly.  
“It is only temporary, Oliver,” the head of the Russian mob soothed, motioning for Oliver to take a seat. “You are needed for a much more important task.”  
“And what task is that?” Oliver wondered aloud.  
“There is reporter coming from Central City to do a piece on Starling, her name is Felicity Smoak. She will spend few days with each family, starting with ours. I want you to show her and her fiance around, take them to see the sights, show them how to have good time in the Glades.”  
“You want me to babysit some out of town reporter?” Oliver sputtered incredulously. “But I have work! Projects that need attention! I just don’t have the time.”  
“Alexei and Evgeny have already taken over your operations for the time that your pretty face and American accent are needed,” Anatoly informed him. “Now go, meet them at the train station. Their train should be arriving in 30 minutes. And take Diggle with you,” he added. “What?” he responded to Oliver’s unspoken question, “We are mob, we have certain appearances to maintain.”

Lance Highrise, Downtown Starling

Sara Lance was upset. The ex-military heir to the Lance crime family was in an argument with Lisa about Laurel, again. “We cannot leave her off the invitation,” the fit blonde insisted for the millionth time while her adopted sister crossed her arms stubbornly, “Yes we can, and we will. I am not having that traitor show up to my birthday party with her stupid boyfriend.”  
“First off, she’s not a traitor, she’s just not cut out for this life. Secondly, you’ve never even met Tommy. He’s actually a really nice guy.” Sara countered, growing weary of this argument.  
“Doesn’t matter, if he can stomach Laurel enough to date her, then that’s all I need to know about him,” Lisa replied, once again proving that if stubbornness were an Olympic sport, she’d be the gold medalist twice over.  
“We’re inviting Laurel, and you are going to say nice things to her, and this is no longer a discussion,” Sara added, noting that the younger Snart sibling was preparing to protest again.  
“Fine, but I am greeting her when she walks in, and that is it,” and Lisa huffed off to her wing of the house.  
“Trouble in paradise?” came a familiar drawl from around the corner as the elder Snart made his presence known.  
“She’ll get over it,” Sara said, rising to greet her foster-brother. “Mainly she’s just upset that Dad’s hijacked her birthday bash in order to impress that reporter from Central City.”  
“Ah yes, the grand get-together to show off our sophistication to the snobby outsiders,” Leonard grinned as he perused the guest list. “Knyazevs and Tancredis at the same party? That’s asking for trouble,” he noted.  
“Dad thinks that if we’re all too busy trying to impress the reporter, we might forget our tensions for a while,” Sara explained, while investigating her wardrobe for something that would be worth wearing to this party.  
“Ah Quentin Lance, ever the peacekeeper. How he ever became a crime boss, I’ll never know,” Leonard quipped, idly playing with the edge of his parka.  
“I sincerely hope that was a joke,” Sara replied from the closet. “Dad has over 15 different murders attached to his name. He just is smart enough to know that peace is more profitable than war.” She came out holding two dresses, one ice blue, the other orange and red.  
“I know I know,” Leonard exasperatingly explained. “The blue one,” he added, taking his adopted sister by surprise, as she wasn’t expecting an actual response from the normally taciturn man.  
“Blue it is then.”

Tancredi Villa, Starling City Port

“Oh no, absolutely not,” Sara Tancredi stated, “You are not having John show the reporter around. He’ll give her nightmares.”  
“Hey!” John Abruzzi protested from his spot by the door.  
“No offense John, but you’ll probably just end up showing them the best places to murder someone, and that’s hardly the type of image we want to present to the world,” the heir to the Tancredi crime syndicate explained, turning to look hopefully to her father, “I, on the other hand, would present an altogether different image, one less harsh, and more classy.”  
Frank Tancredi looked up from the proposal he was reviewing, then back down again, “In truth both of your ideas have merit. For that reason I will have Falzone show the reporter around,”  
Sara was flabbergasted. “Why not me?”  
“Because, sweetheart, during the tour you will be out in the open where any assassin can take a potshot at you. You’re my only daughter, and I can’t afford to lose you, I don’t have a backup plan for the succession, unlike the other two families.” the Tancredi Godfather replied.  
“Dad, you can’t just keep me inside all day managing the accounting! I need some real world experience so I am not unprepared when it is my turn to lead the family!” Sara exploded, fed up with her dad’s overprotective attitude.  
“You will sweetheart, I promise. Just not this time.”


	2. "...there's one"

**Knyazev Station, The Glades**

 

Felicity got off the train and for the first time in over six years, an outsider set foot in Starling City. She looked around the station, noticing the utter lack of people. The station itself was large, but at that moment she and Ray were the only people in the entire building.  _ Well, not the only ones _ , she amended to herself as she noticed what she assumed was their welcoming party striding up to meet them.

The man in the lead was quite honestly the most strikingly handsome man she had ever seen. If Felicity wasn’t happily engaged she would have been drooling over such a beautiful display of man. He also managed to cover the entire room with his presence, instantly outshining the intimidating black man to his left, somehow.  _ Evgeny Knyazev _ , she decided, reading the posture and attitude that simply conveyed, _ I am the boss _ . He was rumoured to be handsome but this was on an entirely different level.

“Miss Smoak is it?” the man spoke perfect English with an American accent. Felicity was instantly on her heels and flustered at this unexpected turn of events as she stammered out an affirmative.

“I hope you had a pleasant journey. I am Oliver Queen-” _ Oliver who-now? _ , “-ward of Anatoly Knyazev and captain of the Solntsevskaya Bratva. I am to be your guide during your stay in the Glades,” the handsome man finished smoothly, extending his hand in greeting which Felicity, very shocked and suddenly very much in doubt of her people assessment skills, took.

“And you must be her fiance, Dr. Palmer,” Oliver continued, extending a hand to Ray who gratefully took it.

“And now Miss Smoak, Dr. Palmer, would please follow me to our limo and I will take you to your quarters in the Queen Mansion,” Mr. Queen demurred, as the black man Mr. Queen referred to as John Diggle took their bags and escorted them to the waiting limo where they began to drive to their next destination.

As Felicity sat in the limo she began trying to search her memory for all she previously knew on Oliver Queen. She vaguely recalled hearing Robert Queen’s name on the news, he was some sort of CEO? She couldn’t remember, but he hardly seemed like the kind of guy that would turn his kid to be raised by the Russian mob.

Evidently it was weighing on Ray’s mind too, as he asked, “So Oliver, how does an American come to be a captain of the Russian mob?”

“It happens when that American is adopted by the head Russian family after the American’s family drowns at sea,” Oliver deadpanned, suddenly distant.

_ Shit _ , Felicity thought,  _ that got real o’clock _ .

“I’m so sorry,” Ray said, astonished.

“Don’t be,” Oliver reassured, “It was a perfectly legitimate question. Ah and we’ve arrived. Welcome to Queen Mansion. It was previously located some distance from the city but after my family’s passing it was transported here to the Glades and reconstructed to serve as the headquarters for the Bratva.”

Walking in, Felicity could see several burly Russian-looking thugs guarding the entrances. This was more of what she had expected from the mobs. 

Oliver turned to them, smiling that brilliant smile as he informed them, “There’s not enough time to show you around, but after you unpack in your room you can join me and the rest of the family for a traditional Russian meal-”

“No time for that Oliver,” a man interrupted. Coming down the stairs was a blonde man with a scar running across an otherwise attractive face.

“What do you mean, Evgeny?” Oliver queried, identifying the man to Felicity as Evgeny Knyazev, the heir to the Solntsevskaya Bratva.

“Lisa Snart’s birthday,” Evgeny smiled.

“That’s right,” Oliver smacked his head. Turning back to Felicity and Ray, “There’s been a slight change of plans. After you unpack, put on your nice clothes. You’re going to see how the Mafia parties.”

 

**Lance Highrise, Downtown Starling City**

 

“So,” Evgeny asked in Russian, “How are they?”

“They seem alright,” Oliver replied in kind.

“They asked about your family, didn’t they?” Evgeny continued, studying his adopted brother carefully, knowing what that tight frown meant.

“Yes,” Oliver quietly answered after a minute.

“Come on bud, shake it off, don’t let it ruin the party,” Evgeny encouraged, knowing that the best way for Oliver to break out of his funk was to socialize. They were walking slightly ahead of the reporter and her fiance. Oliver knew Evgeny was right, but talk of his deceased family always managed to ruin his mood. As they approached the party, Oliver noticed someone who never failed to lighten his mood, Sara Lance.

The heir to Quentin Lance’s criminal empire was stunning, dressed in an ice blue long-sleeved dress that hinted at everything while showing very little. As they got closer, Oliver noticed again how you never realized how short Sara was until you got right next to her. It was her attitude, she had the swagger of someone much larger than her petite size. As they got close enough to be recognized by her, she smiled and called out to them.

“Ah, I see the trouble twins have arrived,” she joked, a twinkle in her eye.

“Guilty as charged,” Evgeny responded a smile on his face as he greeted her.

“The birthday girl is inside, I’m sure she’ll expect birthday wishes,” Sara smiled as Evgeny recoiled in mock horror.

“God forbid I would ever make the critical mistake of forgetting to wish Lisa Snart happy birthday. I doubt I would make it out alive!” And with that he entered the party. As Sara turned to Oliver her smile brightened noticeably as she greeted him.

“Good evening Ollie”

“Good to see you again, Sara,” the handsome man replied, hugging his childhood friend. They had gone to the same high school, he a few years older. During school he had been good friends with both of the Lance sisters, but had lost touch after he graduated. In the intervening time his entire family had died in a yacht accident, she had served two tours in Iraq, and the Takeover had happened. Sufficed to say, they were not nearly as close as they once were.

As he entered the party he heard Sara greeting Miss Smoak and Dr. Palmer behind him. He surveyed the scene. In every party in Starling the look was almost always the same. The Tancredis were on one side of the room, the Bratva on the other, and the Lances in the middle, mingling. As he meandered over to the Bratva side, he made sure to make a stop at the birthday girl to wish Lisa a happy birthday. As he was heading over to his side of the room, he noticed two faces that he had not seen in years. Laurel Lance and Tommy Merlyn, both looking about as at home as lambs in a wolfpack. Good God, he hadn’t seen either of them in over six years. Laurel was Sara’s sister, and Tommy had been his best friend as a young kid. He headed over to say hi.

“Laurel Lance and Tommy Merlyn, as I live and breath,” he exclaimed, greeting them both exubriantly.

“Oliver Queen,” breathed Tommy in amazement.

“Ollie!” Laurel exclaimed at the same time, greeting him with a hug. “It’s been so long. I was so sorry to hear about what happened to your family.”

“I appreciate it,” Oliver said gratefully. “I must say, this is the last place I thought I’d see either of you. Aren’t you a lawyer, Laurel?” at her affirmative response he continued, “Good God this place offend your sense of self.”

“We’re only here because Sara invited us,” Laurel explained, “She still harbors slim hopes I’ll be reconciled with the family.”

“Sounds like Sara,” Oliver smiled ruefully.

“Why are you here Oliver?” Tommy asked, “I would’ve thought Starling would’ve been the last place you’d want to be.”

“Well, all members of the Bratva were extended an invitation, and I think it would’ve been churlish to refuse, don’t you?” Oliver replied, a little confused by the question.

Tommy and Laurel’s mouths were both open in shock. “Y-You’re Bratva?” Tommy stuttered, shocked.

“You didn’t know?” Oliver asked, slowly starting to understand the situation.

“And how did this come to pass?” Laurel asked increduously.

“After what happened to my family, the Knyazev’s took me in,” Oliver explained. 

“I’m sorry Oliver I just can’t picture you as any kind of mobster,” Tommy explained, flabbergasted at his former best friend.

“Oh but he his the best kind of mobster,” a cheerful Russian accent announced the arrival of a slightly inebriated Evgeny Knyazev, “He’s Bratva. And a captain at that.”

“Tommy, Laurel, meet Evgeny Knyazev, my drunken foster-brother, and heir to the Solntsevskaya Bratva. Evgeny, meet Laurel Lance and Tommy Merlyn, two of my childhood friends,” Oliver continued.

“These are the kinds of people you keep with now,” Tommy demanded, disgusted at Evgeny’s persona that just screamed  _ mafia _ .

Evgeny’s mood instantly went south. “Oliver,” he said very seriously in Russian, “Just say the word and I will drop this arrogant fool where he stands.”

“No need,” Oliver replied in kind, never breaking eye contact with Tommy, “Why don’t you go and meet me at the drink bar.” With a final glare in Tommy’s direction, the blonde sauntered over to the bar.

Oliver’s gaze grew hard. Switching back to English, he warned Tommy, “You are in shock, so I will make allowances for what you just said. But, the next time you ridicule a member of my family, I will show you just what kind of mobster I am. I’m not the same Oliver you knew,” he continued, “It’s time you accept that.” And with his mood suitably ruined, he stalked over to the bar to join Evgeny.

Arriving at the bar, he immediately ordered a double of the bar’s best vodka. Fuck it, he needed it. He was distracted by a commotion from the other side of the room. He turned to see Leonard Snart and Philly Falzone getting separated, words being spat at each other.

“What happened,” he asked Evgeny.

“From what I could tell, the Snart boy was trying to make move on Tancredi,” he said, downing his own vodka.

“Didn’t think Snart was gay,” Oliver replied, confused.

“What, no, not old Frank, his daughter, Sara,” Evgeny corrected, gesturing to the beautiful redhead seen arguing with her father as the combatants were being separated.

“Well damn, Tancredi actually allowed her out of the house,” Oliver mused, “I was starting to think the old bastard was just making her up.”

“Well I can certainly see why Snart was interested,” Evgeny leered, “I’ll be damned if she isn’t the most beautiful girl in the room.”

“I don’t know if I agree with you on that,” Oliver said, his eyes on Sara Lance as she laughed at something Lisa said.

Evgeny, following his gaze, snorted loudly, “Oh you poor lovesick American puppy, I still don’t understand why you don’t just ask her out on a date if you like her so much.”

“Are you kidding,” Oliver protested, “A ward and an heir? That’s some Romeo and Juliet shit right there. No, she is way out of my league.”

“Agree to disagree,” Evgeny muttered. Changing tactics, he asked conspiratorially, “How many knives you think she’s got hidden in that dress?”

“What?” Oliver asked, wondering where his foster-brother was going with this.

“Come on bro, you know she is knives expert. She’s got her own brand, for crying out loud. Makes own special type of cut, very unique.”

“Don’t know, don’t care,” Oliver replied, finishing off his vodka and gesturing for another.

“Well let’s ask her and find out!” And before he could protest Oliver found himself being dragged by Evgeny towards Sara.

“Sara! Sara!” Evgeny called to get the blonde woman’s attention. “Oliver wants to know how many knives are in your dress!”

Sara grinned, “Well…” Evgeny suddenly felt a sharp pricking sensation at his groin. Looking down, he saw one of Sara’s special knives held dangerously close to the family jewels, “...there’s one.” She finished.

Oliver guffawed at his friends awkward situation, then suddenly felt his own pricking and sensation. “And there’s two,” she added, to the discomfort of both men. She then sheathed her knives in two hidden sheaths at her wrists and stepped away from the suddenly white-faced mobsters. “Is that enough information for you boys?” she asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Plenty!” Evgeny assured her, quickly scooting off to get more drunk.

“And what about you Oliver?” she asked, “Had your fill too?”

Oliver had know idea what possessed him to say what he said next, but when later asked about it, he attributed it to the double of vodka earlier. “You want to get some fresh air, catch up a little more?” he asked.

Sara surprised him by nodding, and even more by adding, “There’s a private garden on the roof.”

Oliver, scarcely believing his ears, motioned forward, adding, “Lead the way Miss Lance.”

 

**Alley next to Lance Highrise, Downtown Starling City**

 

Philly Falzone lit a smoke.  _ Goddamn Snart boy _ , he thought disgustingly. Who does he think he is, making a move on the boss’ daughter like that. He is nothing, a gna-he suddenly felt a sharp pain on his temple, and everything went black.

When he awoke, he was tied to a chair. He was in the back of a van, and he was not alone. Sitting across from him was a man, his face shrouded in shadows.

“Feeling better,” the man asked innocently.

“Let me out of these bonds and I’ll show you just how good I’m feeling” Falzone snarled, straining against his ropes.

“So bold, for someone tied to a chair,” the man mused, and began flipping a knife back and forth, making sure Falzone saw it.

“Do you know who I am? Who I work for? You touch a hair on my head, and you won’t last the week,” Falzone threatened, slightly worried at the man’s calm attitude.

“Your name is Philly Falzone, you work for Frank Tancredi, and when I kill you, I’ll live for as long as my body lets me, because no one will know,” the man continued, setting a special Sara Lance knife on the table.

Falzone’s face drained of color, “You’re going to start a mob war.”

“Yes, Mr. Falzone. And then my city will finally be free of its chains”

“Thousands of innocent people will die!”

“Yes, they will. And then the US Army will have to intervene, and you’re family, and the Lance’s, and the Bratva will no longer oppress the people of this city. No longer will the one’s I love be corrupted and twisted by the mob. Starling City will no longer be a mob city!” And with that the stranger leaned into the light to show Falzone his face.

Falzone’s eyes went wide with shock and recognition before the man slashed his throat with Sara Lance’s knife.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it! Remember to comment with your thoughts/suggestions!


	3. "that's one way of making it official"

**Roof of Lance Highrise, Downtown Starling City**

 

“I never did ask you how you went from the military to the mob,” Oliver asked as they roamed the gardens on top of the Lance crime family’s headquarters.

“I was dishonourably discharged,” Sara replied, face unreadable.

“What for?” Oliver wondered.

“I beat a superior unconscious for calling me a stone cold bitch,” she deadpanned.

“Sounds like the asshole had it coming,” Oliver remarked, which drew a smile out of the blonde.

“He certainly did,” she agreed, “But, he was my superior, and I was dishonourably discharged. When I got back home I didn’t intend to go into the family business, but it was kinda hard to find a job with a dishonourable discharge on my resume. The only job offer I got was working for Dad.”

“Then,” she continued, “I figured out I was really good at it, and right around that time the Takeover happened, and I embraced the role. It’s pretty much the time Laurel stopped speaking to me.”

“Yeah I ran into her and Tommy at the party,” Oliver recalled.

“Oh yeah,” Sara grinned ruefully, “and how’d that go?”

“It...could have gone better,” Oliver admitted. “They weren’t too happy to find out I was Bratva.”

“I can imagine,” Sara laughed bitterly.

“I guess we can both be disappointments together then, huh?” Oliver joked, drawing a small chuckle out of Sara. She turned to look at him, her gaze softening, before telling him, “You know Ollie, I never really got to tell you, but I really am sorry about your family.”

In the intervening years since his family had died Oliver had been told that by just about every person he had met, but with Sara it sounded different, sounded like she understood the pain he had endured, and really cared about his suffering. There was only one way, he realized, someone could have that kind of empathy.

“Who did you lose?” he asked. Sara just looked at him a long time before replying.

“Her name was Sin,” she said, her eyes growing distant, “she was another soldier in my unit, from Starling, funny enough. She was a couple years younger than me and we bonded, being the only women in our unit. She became like another sister to me, and we hung out together after every mission. During one raid, we got separated. I panicked, screaming her name. I searched the entire building for her. I finally found her after fifteen minutes of frantic searching. I was so relieved, I remember laughing and being ready to give her so much grief for giving me so much grief, when-” her voice broke, “-when I saw a grenade land in front of her.” Sara’s eyes were downcast and a single tear dropped out of her eyes, landing on the cobblestone path between them. Oliver got the sense that this was the first time she had told the story to anyone. Looking up, she choked out, “There wasn’t enough of her left to bury.”

“Sara…” Oliver began, but Sara interrupted him.

“Stop talking,” she demanded, and kissed him.

It was a violent kiss, releasing all the pent up grief and guilt that comes from a loss that you feel personally responsible for. Oliver had no idea how long the kiss lasted, but when they finally broke apart, hurting bright blue eyes met solemn grey-blue.

“Don’t leave me tonight,” Sara pleaded, “Please.”

“Never,” Oliver promised, and kissed her again, gentler this time, a kiss to reflect the promise, a kiss that was a pledge.

 

**Sara’s Safe House, Downtown Starling**

 

Morning light filtered through the blinds, waking Oliver from his peace-filled sleep. The smell of scrambled eggs and bacon filled the room, and he rolled over to see Sara cooking them breakfast, wearing his shirt from the night before. It was a scene of domestic bliss so far removed from his normal life, and he just wanted to stay there, in that crappy apartment, forever.

After the party ended they had immediately gone to her safe house, Oliver sending Evgeny a single text letting him know he would not be making it home tonight before shutting off his phone. They had made love with a whispered intimacy, words not needed in a night over six years in the making, two wounded scarred souls making peace.

He got up, turning his phone on, only to find about 15 different texts from Evgeny

_ Told you _

_ Told you _

_ Told you _

_ Romeo and Juliet my ass _

_ Oh so you’re trying to ignore me now? _

_ It’s ok I know it’s cause you’re getting it. _

_ Did you ever find out how many knives were in her dress? _

_ How many? _

_ Where were they located? _

_ Did she make you remove every one? _

_ Or did she do it herself? _

_ Was it hot? _

_ Don’t forget a condom _

_ Night bro _

_ Don’t forget when you’re done slamming, to show the reporter around. _

Oliver smiled at his adopted brother’s antics, then got up and walked to where Sara was cooking, leaning over her shoulder and inhaling the aroma.

“And she cooks, too!” he exclaimed, drawing a laugh out of Sara. She turned and smiled at him, as he leaned over to kiss her.

“Just so you know,” she added as he moved away to begin dressing, “this is the last time I will ever cook for you. I thought you deserved a little reward so enjoy it.”

“I was that good, huh?” he joked, and was rewarded with an exasperated smile.

“Hey,” she reprimanded as he sat down with a plate, “put a shirt on when you’re eating.”

“Can’t,” he reminded her, “you’re wearing my shirt.”

“Oh,” she replied in a sultry voice, “then I guess you’re just going to have to take it off me.”

Oliver growled, rising to kiss her, when his phone rang.

“That’s not good,” Sara noted.

“It can wait,” Oliver said, leaning down to kiss her neck. Sara’s phone then started ringing.

“Ok both our phones are ringing. That’s never good,” Sara protested. Oliver sighed and went to go pick it up.

“What’s up,” he asked.

“You’re going to have to come back now,” Evgeny replied, all seriousness.

“What happened?” Oliver wondered, worried at Evgeny’s tone.

“Philly Falzone was murdered last night.”

 

**Alley Next to Lance Highrise, Downtown Starling City**

 

As Oliver and Sara walked up to the scene, Oliver held Sara back for a minute.

“What do we say?” he asked. She pursed her lips for a second, before shrugging.

“The truth,” she replied. “We are our own alibis.”

_ Well _ , he thought, _ that’s one way of making it official _ .

As they walked up, he noted the reporter, Miss Smoak, and her fiance also at the scene. He quickly separated from Sara to greet them.

“Miss Smoak, Dr. Palmer. I am sorry that your visit coincided with this unfortunate event. I’m afraid your tour will have to wait for another day.” he informed them, the immaculate host again.

“Yeah that’s fine. What exactly happened?” Felicity asked, her inquisitive reporter’s mind already at work.

“That’s what we’re trying to find out,” Oliver replied.

“Woah woah woah there,” a voice interrupted, “Come on Oliver, don’t bring your  _ Bratva Times _ reporters into this, you know  _ The Neutral _ ’s got dibs on all the cross mafia news.”

“Cisco she’s not from the  _ Bratva Times _ . She’s from the  _ Central Weekly _ , and she’s doing a piece on Starling,” Oliver informed the exuberant young Latino reporter.

“Oh, well then that’s cool,” Cisco replied, shaking hands with Ray and Felicity. “Cisco Ramon. I’m a reporter for  _ The Neutral _ which, if this swank American-Russian mobster didn’t tell you, is the real source for news in Starling.”

“Yeah yeah whatever Cisco,” Oliver brushed the reporter off, “you got any idea who’s PI’ing this one?”

“Word is that Allen volunteered to take this one,” Cisco told him.

“Excuse me,” Felicity interrupted, “what’s ‘PI’ing’?”

“Privately Investigating,” Cisco explained, “Basically en lieu of police detectives that aren’t available for obvious reasons, the mob hires a Private Detective to investigate.”

At that moment, the detective arrived on the scene. Barry Allen was known as the best detective in the city. With a lanky build and youthful looks, he was often referred to as the “Baby-faced Detective”.

As he arrived, he went over to Frank Tancredi, who was fuming.

“Mr. Tancredi,” he greeted him. “What do you know of what happened here?”

“After the party last night, me and my crew went back to the Villa, when I noticed that poor Philly wasn’t with us,” Tancredi informed him. “I didn’t think much of it, thinking he maybe was getting lucky. It wasn’t till this morning when he still wasn’t here and wasn’t answering his phone that I suspected something might be wrong. We went back to the party only to discover his body here.”

“With all due respect, detective,” John Abruzzi interceded, “I already know who did this.” The underboss to Frank Tancredi stalked over to Falzone’s corpse, picking it up to display the cut that killed him.

“There is only one knife that makes this cut,” he announced, “and she makes it!” He pointed to Sara Lance. “Where were you last night?” Abruzzi demanded, moving close to the dangerous blonde.

Sara matched him, stare for stare, refusing to be intimidated by an underboss. She tilted her head to the side, studying Abruzzi with a predatory awareness, before jerking her head towards Oliver. “I was with him.” Oliver nodded his confirmation.

“Wait, hold on a second,” Quentin Lance interrupted, confused, “What do you mean,  _ with _ him?”

“Daddy,” she sighed, giving him a meaningful look, “Do you really want me to spell it out for you?”

Quentin blinked, still confused, before suddenly the horrifying realization took in. “Oh God.” he choked out. Oliver instantly found himself the object of protective glares from Quentin and Leonard, as well as nods of respect from every other male in attendance.

“Well,” Tancredi interrupted, “If you were with him, then how do you explain the cut?”

“Those knives aren’t rare,” Sara told him, “I gave a knife to every single Lance mobster last Christmas.”

“So you’re telling me that someone in your organization killed my underboss,” Tancredi accused.

“I’m saying that there’s a lot of those knives in circulation,” Sara retorted.

“Well gentlemen,” Barry smiled, “looks like you will be needing my services after all. Let’s get to work.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's chapter 3, hope you liked it. Please comment!

**Author's Note:**

> So that's chapter one. Once again please comment it would mean a lot to me. This chapter was more of an introduction to all the characters, I promise next chapter will be more connected.


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